Mistaken Identity

While the man whose name I thought was Carl attends worship irregularly, I was surprised to not see him this week.  When I asked about him, the assistants all agreed there was no one by that name.  Puzzled, I began to describe him as thin and in a wheelchair, but I realized that description was pretty generic. I took the plunge:  "Well, sometimes he can be a bit cranky."  

 

In unison they laughed and responded, "Earl.  He is still upstairs."  They gave me his room number, so I went to see him.   I don't always try to track down those who miss a worship service, but despite my not remembering his name, the last time I saw him we had had a good conversation about some of his frustrations.  I felt the need to follow-up.

      

Earl reminds me of an old feral cat.  He seems to yearn for companionship, but at times he almost hisses before he leaves the room.  He has some scars that lead me believe his life has not been easy.  He is testy, but I can't help but like him.     

 

I found him in his room watching an old western and looking quite forlorn.  He surprised me by taking my hand. 

  

We talked, and then he said he quietly said he was afraid of dying like his first wife.  "How did she die?"  He replied that she died trying to catch her breath.  He now has a traceha tube.  He added, "I wish I had not taken breathing for granted. I wish I could have been more grateful for my breath."  

I smiled.  "Earl, the good news is that it is not too late."   He looked out of the corner of his one good eye, and slowly smiled back.  Then he said, "OK, I will be in worship next time." 

 

As I left, he said, "God bless you."  I thanked him.  God had indeed done just that.